Category: movies

Hold On To Now

Monday and back to the office with me today. Weekends are simply not long enough, ever, and should always be at least three days, methinks. Yesterday I witnessed the dreadful Saints performance, and it was not a good weekend for Louisiana football fans; the only glimmer of light locally was Tulane’s victory. I finished reading Shawn’s book, which was marvelous, and then picked out my first Halloween Horror read: Riley Sager’s Final Girls, and it’s long past time I’ve read this book. It’s rather embarrassing that I’ve not yet gotten to it. I also downloaded the audiobook of The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones for this weekend’s drive to the Redneck Riviera, and read another Alfred Hitchcock Presents short story, from Stories for Late at Night, “The Ash Tree” by M. R. James, which was delightfully creepy and reminded me of Daphne du Maurier’s “The Apple Tree”–and that in turn made me think about creepy trees as a trope in horror, and thought perhaps I should give the trope a whirl at some point. We watched the Scouts Honor: The Secret Files of the Boy Scouts documentary–which was just as creepy and awful and horrific as I thought it would be, as well as yet another pointed reminder of how straight people have failed to protect children since, oh like forever, and then cover it up as much as possible but then have the nerve to accuse queer people of pedophilia and grooming?

Sure, Jan.

We also watched the Jennifer Garner Apple Plus series The Last Thing He Said, which wasn’t great but wasn’t terrible, either; it just kind of evolved and wasn’t very thriller-ish or suspenseful. I also predicted one of the bigger plot twists in the first episode long before it played out in the show, but it was well done and an interesting story; but it wasn’t very thrilling or suspenseful; it never really seemed like there was any danger or stakes. It ws talked about a lot, but never part of the show’s reality? It was interesting enough to hold our interest–although I think I may have approached telling the story in a different manner than they did. It’s an interesting thought, at any rate.

It’s lovely having a kitten in the house, even if it means being more alert and having to get up more regularly because there was a crashing sound from somewhere else inside the apartment–usually followed by a galloping kitten moving at high speed away from the noise and mayhem he caused. He woke me up this morning by knocking my glasses off my nightstand table and then playfully batting them around on the floor, and once I took those away from him he went for the broom. He’s incredibly sweet, though, and I love that he’s so fearless and feels comfortable and at home enough to play. He slept on me for most of the Saints debacle yesterday, through the Boy Scout movie, and then moved back and forth between me and Paul during the Jennifer Garner show.

I also started writing the opening of a short story or a novel or something at any rate while watching the Boy Scouts documentary–part of it and the scandal was in New Orleans–and had an idea for the opening scene for something so I started writing it down; mainly about a college student away from home for the first time who’s obsessed with true crime and wants to be a true crime writer but isn’t sure how to get started chasing her dream other than majoring in Journalism at Liberty State in Liberty Center, Kansas–the town from #shedeservedit, why not reuse it? I don’t know why I started writing this when there are so many other things I should be working on. But that’s also life, you know, when you’re a writer–at least for me, there are always so many other ideas and thoughts and stories banging around in my head that it’s sometimes hard to focus on what I need to get done.

Heavy heaving sigh.

I never did make that to-do list for the week, so perhaps that should be the first thing on the list (I often do this so I can cross something off the list immediately; it’s satisfying and always seems to keep off working on getting the list completed). I also think that once I finish reading the Riley Sager I am going to reread a classic Stephen King that I’ve not revisited in a long time, The Dead Zone, which used to be one of my favorites and is still one that I think about a lot–especially during the rise of the former president, who eerily reminded me of the character of Greg Stillson, written thirty or forty years or so before the rise of the reality host/failed real estate mogul. (I’d considered rereading it in the wake of the 2016 election, but didn’t have the strength; I think now would be a good time.) I liked the opening of the Sager; which was encouraging. I hope to be able to get several books read this month…I think my reading is going to start picking up again, hallelujah. I think having a cat sleeping my lap while I read was what I was missing, and why it was hard for me to read since we lost Scooter. (I promise not to turn this into a Tug stan blog, seriously.) Today is going to be his first day left at home on his own for a while; we’ll see how he handles that.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader; I’m sure I’ll be around again later on.

Vegas High

Thursday morning and the bills are paid. Huzzah? But this afternoon I have to leave early to go to the cardiologist–I need to get cleared for the surgery because of my advanced age–and then Friday morning it’s off to the dentist AND WE’RE GETTING A CAT!!! (I may be a tad bit excited about getting a cat. This cat is going to be so loved and spoiled…) I was tired again yesterday when I got home from work, but I did manage to do some laundry and write. I finished the first chapter of yet another book, and will probably continue to futz around with both of these for a little while longer. It’s always important for me to get the first few chapters on a firm footing before moving on to the rest. I’m not sure why that is, to be honest, but it’s true. It’s impossible for me to move on and get deeper into a manuscript until I am confident in the first five chapters; sometimes less. I always forget this whenever I am working on new projects, and then spiral into self-doubt and imposter syndrome…aka anxiety. I have to say, this is so nice and different, such a lovelier way to live. My sleep is improving, my creativity is flourishing, I am being productive–and it’s okay to choose writing over reading, much as I love to read. I will finish my current book this week and this weekend I will start my Halloween Horror Month reading/film festival/television rewatches.

I’ve actually kind of started that already; I’ve been watching those Dark Shadows episodes. The story behind The Haunting of Collinwood is interesting enough; two doomed spirits from the past using the two children at Collinwood to enact vengeance on the Collins family, and everyone slowly comes to realize something is wrong with the children and something strange is going on. The funniest part, to me, is Elizabeth Stoddard, the matriarch played by old Hollywood star Joan Bennett, kept insisting there are no such things as ghosts and witches and so on–was this an ongoing thing for the character of Elizabeth, with every new supernatural storyline? Girl, where do you live?

I’ve also got those Friday the 13th the Series episodes to watch on Youtube. Horror has had a strong influence on my writing, and it’s something I enjoy and have a deep respect for as a genre. I am hardly expert in the field at all, and I try my hand at it here and there now and again with short stories or the occasional book. But I don’t write scary stuff–I like to write creepy suspense, with the tension and fear and adrenaline rising for the reader along with the characters in the story. My stuff is more about atmosphere itself than the supernatural events, which I rarely try to explain–there’s never a handy “expert” in any of my work to explain things to the characters, who are kind of on their own and can’t be sure they understand it themselves. As I said once in an interview, “Shirley Jackson never explained, and neither did Daphne du Maurier.”

Needless to say, Jackson and du Maurier are two of my biggest influences, I think.

OH! I should reread The Haunting of Hill House. It’s been a minute. And definitely “Don’t Look Now.”

Paul got home in time for us to watch this week’s The Morning Show, and it kind of begs the question: why is the fact that Reese Witherspoon is playing at least a bisexual woman in a relationship with Julianna Margulies not being talked about more? Have we reached the point where we’ve grown blasé about queer rep in mainstream-targeted television shows? Then again, that’s a good place to be–if no one is complaining and we no longer have to champion it? It’s a really good show, and as tired as I am of Jennifer Aniston and her even more tired old straight white lady shtick about cancel culture (“Friends couldn’t air today!” You say that like it’s a bad thing, Jen.), she is quite good in the show. I also approve the addition of Jon Hamm as Elon Musk, er, a Musk-like billionaire buying their network and also as a potential love interest. I also find it interesting that the two female leads–powerful and successful women in the news business–have male first names: Alex and Bradley.

So, hopefully by this afternoon the cardiologist will have cleared me for the surgery next month and I will know if I have the same congenital heart defect my mother had; there’s some question as to whether it’s genetic or not; she made it to eighty, but her father died in his sleep in his mid-forties; her brother also had heart issues and multiple surgeries before he passed. I have to say I have been exceptionally lucky for most of my life; I’ve never had a surgery other than tonsil removal as a child and tooth removal.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back soon.

Story

Yesterday was a bit of an emotionally challenging one at work yesterday, but handling days like yesterday is the most important part of my job, and part of the primary reason I took the job in the first place. It does get to me sometimes; not as often as one might think, but that’s also having years of experience in doing the work, too. I was emotionally and mentally tired when I got off work, decided not to run any errands and just come home to have some time to myself for a little while instead. There were chores that needed doing, of course, so I put on my big boy pants and went to work. Chores are always lovely when you’re processing things, or when you’re writing something. I like how satisfying it feels to be doing something mindless with your hands while your mind works away at something.

I did manage to do some work on the sequel to Death Drop, and got about 1200 words down, so that’s something. It wasn’t as easy as the work was on Sunday, but I was also better rested then and hadn’t already worked a full day when I sat down to work on the first chapter of the new Valerie, too. Both manuscripts are starting to come together in my mind, which is nice–but I am not sure if this “work on one for a chapter and then switch to the other” is going to be productive or help me at all in getting them both done, either. And the chores helped me assess the chapter and come up with the things that need to be said and written in it, which I will do tonight. So yay for the chores again!

I’ve been toying with the idea for a blog entry for several years now that is actually turning into a longer-form essay. (It’s been sitting in my drafts for a very long time here.) It began as a response to a homophobic op/ed run in a college paper at a major Southern university that was so incredibly offensive on every possible level (there wasn’t a homophobic dog-whistle the little bigot writer didn’t blow) that it was hard to believe a college student in this day and age could write, unashamedly and with such great pleasure and glee, such incredibly bigoted rhetoric disguised as “concern” when what was actually written was nothing more than an uninformed, un-researched, and completely emotional rant, entirely based in nothing factual. All it did was merely give the author a chance to expose their anger and feelings of contempt for queer people. That person should never ever be given any kind of platform again under any fucking circumstance–unless she goes to work for the Murdochs. That post then continued growing, until it became something else entirely, eventually consuming another blog post draft I’d been toying with for a very long time about authenticity and #ownvoices and cultural appropriation. It’s a separate piece from the other essay I’ve been developing (“Are You Man Enough?” about masculinity)–apparently, I’m getting into the writing of essays now, even though no one will want to ever publish them–but it’s something I feel strongly about, especially with that recent nonsensical essay making the rounds about gay romance that erases gay writers almost completely. Yes, yes, we get it, you think straight women invented gay romance.

You can say it a million times, you can even believe it–but that still doesn’t make it true.

Erasure of queer people is an ongoing effort.

The water situation in New Orleans–always dire, no matter how you look at it really–is finally getting national attention (which means I’m hearing about it from friends and family), and this is a question/problem that is going to continue, and not just here, either. Florida seems just as determined to make a quick buck at every moment without any concern for their fresh water supply, which is being steadily poisoned by chemicals and other pollutants; I am sure the rise of the seas is going to also gradually impact the Florida aquifer, too, as well as those of cities along rivers on the coasts. Now imagine a major hurricane coming this way and sending a twenty-foot storm surge of saltwater up the river. It was never a concern before…but it is from now on. Yay! Obviously, Louisiana’s environmental issues are something I’ve always been concerned about, but the concern is definitely ratcheting up a lot lately. This brutally hot summer, the drought, the river level being so low for so long…it’s hard not to think about it. It should be our legislature’s primary concern…but they’re too busy legislating against trans people and banning books because, you know, priorities.

I also started watching, while waiting for Paul to come home from work last night, some old episodes of the original Dark Shadows, which I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. The funny thing about the show and my memories of it are that I don’t really remember a lot of the storylines or characters beyond the original; probably because the “Barnabas is a vampire” storyline was also made into a feature film (House of Dark Shadows) and when the series was rebooted in 1989, they started with that same storyline. Prime used to have the individual episodes; now they have them bunched together with titles–I was watching the episodes when Quentin (David Selby) first came on the show; the grouping is called The Haunting of Collinwood, which made it more fun because I don’t know how the storyline runs–although I know Quentin became one of the stars of the show so this evil persona he’s inhabiting here inevitably must be redeemed. I may have to rent House of Dark Shadows to watch again.

As you can see, I am starting to get into the Halloween Horror Month spirit already!

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday (oh! It’s Pay-the-Bills day!) and I’ll talk to you again later.

Heart Healer

Monday morning of Bouchercon week and so much to do before I leave on Wednesday it’s not even the least bit amusing. I somehow managed to get very little done over the weekend–I did get some things done, I always do–but I’ve really got to stop taking the weekends off and do some work other than chores. I did manage to get a shit load of books pruned off the shelves, with even more work to be done on those once I get back (and I am going to try to resist buying any books while I’m in San Diego as well).

I did make it to Costco yesterday to get fitted for my hearing aids, which I will be picking up when I get back from San Diego. When I had them in, the difference was so amazing I couldn’t believe it. The hearing tech stood in the doorway to the room with the door open to the main floor, and she spoke to me–in a soft voice–and I could hear her every word clearly and concisely, and the noise from the store didn’t muffle or down her out at all. She even said, “I can tell you can hear better because you’re speaking more softly than you did without them in–so you were even having trouble hearing yourself speak.” I came home from that, making groceries at the Carrollton Rouse’s (and just let me say, getting to the I-10 on-ramp from Carrollton heading uptown might possibly be the worst interchange/on-ramp I’ve ever experienced in my life–seriously, who the fuck designed our highway system through the city of New Orleans?) and collapsing into the cool of the apartment after being out in the “feels like 114” for far too long. I also paid for said hearing aids, which was significantly cheaper than getting them from the doctor’s office (at least almost fifty percent cheaper; always get your hearing aids at Costco, people, otherwise you’re being robbed). I need to make a packing list and perhaps start packing for the trip tonight. I have an eye appointment on my way to the airport on Wednesday morning, and when I get back from the trip I can get my hearing aids, and then that following Friday I have my dental surgery.

I also watched the latest episode of My Adventures with Superman, which is amazing, quite frankly, and then we watched The Flash, which debuted this weekend on streaming. I know we’re aren’t supposed to watch the movie because it’s star, Ezra Miller, has become extremely problematic in their (I believe they identify as non-binary and use they/them) personal life, with some arrests for deeply troubling crimes; I know there was a big push to cancel both him and the film before its release, and yes, the accusations are troubling. But…I already pay for the streaming service; I didn’t spend anything additional to watch, and yes, I gave them a view to count…and more the shame, really. It’s actually one of the better DC movies, far better than expected, and the plot was actually clever and easily understood and made sense. Miller, whose casting I questioned originally, is really good as Barry Allen. Barry Allen/The Flash has always been one of my favorite DC characters, plus it was superfun to see Michael Keaton put on the cape and cowl again as Batman. Warner Brothers has made some troubling decisions about their DC movies over the past couple of years due to the most recent conglomerate merger–cancelling the Batwoman movie and just shelving it, among others–so they put all their eggs into the basket of The Flash being big box office, and held onto that plan even after Miller’s behavior became an issue. I enjoyed the film, but cannot recommend anyone else watch it, either. I felt guilty even watching it, thinking about Miller’s victims, so all I kept thinking during the movie wasn’t just this is good but what a shame this is good. There will inevitably be a documentary and/or true crime book about Miller’s conduct and how it damaged this film and the studio–but I do think, by releasing the film, Warner Brothers sent a very dangerous message about what they will and won’t tolerate from a star they’ve put a major investment into…and I wouldn’t be surprised if the studio didn’t use money and leverage to get Miller the slap on the wrist he got.

It’s very old-school Hollywood, isn’t it?

It’s really a shame, too. I love Barry Allen, I love the Flash, and Miller is great in the role. But with them rebooting the DCUniverse and recasting everyone, it’s a done deal anyway. I hope Miller gets the help they need, and don’t hurt anyone else.

I am also really looking forward to The Blue Beetle. I’m hearing great things about it, and I am very excited to see a Latino/Hispanic cast.

Bouchercon looms, and I am leaving Wednesday. I have an eye appointment on my way to the airport–the kind of thing I would have never done in the past because of the anxiety (what if something happens? What if I get delayed there? On and on and on), so I think I am making progress now that I’ve been able to identify what the problem is. I have to make a packing list of what to take, need to be realistic about what I will and won’t be able to work on and/or get done while I am gone (nothing; I’ll be lucky to blog at all whilst I am there, let alone stay on top of emails). I did do a little writing yesterday on my story “Temple of the Soothsayer,” which I am leaving in Central America for this draft and I’ll see how offensive it turns out, all the while watching for Mayan/indigenous peoples tropes, stereotypes, and cliches. If it doesn’t work without any of that, I’ll move it to the Aegean–the Pythia makes more sense than inventing a Mayan priestess/legend, given how little I (or anyone, really) knows about Mayan mythology. But…jaguars. I’d have to give up on jaguars if I move it to the Aegean.

And I love me some cats.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. I have a lot to do before I leave Wednesday, very little time in which to do it, and I am going to need to really get organized over these next two days. Wish me luck as I head into the spice mines!

More to Me

Sunday morning, and this afternoon I am getting fitted for hearing aids. I’ve always had trouble hearing, even as a child–ambient noise was the perpetrator the majority of the time–but somehow always managed to come in with just enough hearing to not require assistance, which I’ve always thought rather odd. The older I get the worse it gets. I can’t hear the oven timer if the television is on; Paul always has to tell me it’s beeping and if he’s not home, I just stay in the kitchen or watch the clock. The hearing aids are expensive, but they are very much cheaper at Costco (which is where I am getting them) than from the doctor’s office where my test failed. I have things to get done today, and after the hearing aid adventure I am going to make groceries at the Rouse’s on Carrollton (since I’m right there already) before returning home. An adventure in the heat!

I slept late this morning, primarily because we stayed up later than usual. Paul stayed home, which was unusual for a Saturday to begin with, so when he got up I gave up on getting much of anything done and repaired to my easy chair, where I peacefully reclined and watched things. We got caught up on Only Murders in the Building, which is becoming more guilty pleasure than actually fun; we watched the Gal Gadot action/adventure movie Heart of Stone (highly entertaining, but action sequences in movies are getting more and more ridiculous, especially when it comes to airplanes and aerial maneuvering), and then moved on to a crime show on Hulu, Saint X, which is about a pretty white girl that disappears from a Caribbean island vacation and turns up dead.

I also pruned a shitload of books out of the bookcases. As I mentioned yesterday, its very hard for me to donate books written by friends because it feels like I’m donating the friendship, which makes sense in my twisted and confused brain. But I am trying to break down those neuroses and idiotic superstitions that always seem to govern my life; coping mechanisms are enormously helpful. I don’t expect my friends to keep my books in their collections, after all–and I have limited space and know a lot of writers. But I cleared off a shelf in the laundry room for cleaning supplies and so forth, which is nice, and I also cleared out space in the bookcases in the living room, so the top two laundry room shelves won’t look so crammed in with books. I also really need to start cleaning out the storage attic, and I need to get most of that done before my arm surgery–whenever that will be–because that will make it incredibly difficult to maneuver boxes down from up there. Right now, I have about five boxes of books to donate stacked in the living room. (God only knows when they’ll get taken to the library sale, but the process has begun.) I will probably prune some more while I am working on the laundry room shelves as well.

The page proofs for Mississippi River Mischief dropped into my inbox on Thursday night, and yesterday I spent some time rereading the book–catching some things, but I wasn’t proofing, I was reading–and the book isn’t terrible at all. It shouldn’t surprise me, but somehow it always does when I reread something in proof form–which is the first time it looks like a book to me, and so it seems more real at last–and it’s good. I am pretty good at this, but I’ve been doing it for a very long time so I should be by now, right? I’ll probably keep reading–I always like to read it through before proofing–it today, and will proof it after I come back from Bouchercon. I’m not planning on trying to even write anything while I’m in San Diego. I never end up writing anything–it’s a struggle to even blog on a daily basis while I’m conferencing–let alone keep up with my email, or try to write anything. I generally don’t even have time to read while I’m at a conference, unless I get peopled out and have to go hide in my room. There are panels that I want to go see and people I want to connect with–Minneapolis was lovely but too short a time to catch up with people I’ve not seen in years, so hopefully San Diego will work out better for me. I do have four panels, after all; that’s a lot of being in front of an audience and speaking. I am not having anxiety about it, though, which is always a plus. Of course, there’s still time for that to kick in, but I am not going to worry about having anxiety–which is an endless loop of stress.

So I am going to finish this, get cleaned up and get some stuff done. My appointment is at 1:45, so I have all morning to get things done as well as do some writing and perhaps even some editing, who knows? The whole day stretches before me, filled with endless possibility.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Play Guitar Play

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment, and all is well.

Yesterday started well, but I got very tired in the afternoon after running errands. By the time I had the groceries put away and emptied the dishwasher, I was tired. I repaired to my chair for a bit with a protein shake (I read another Alfred Hitchcock Presents story, “Edward the Conquerer,” which was really a lovely story that turned horrifically dark at the end; I think its author, Roald Dahl, has been found to be problematic in the modern era, and after reading this story, all I can say is good.) and then tried to do some other chores and things around the house while letting ideas cook in my head. I hate this exhaustion that comes and goes ever since COVID last summer; while I am grateful it doesn’t happen all the time, I hate when it does because it’s very derailing. My mind can’t really focus while I am feeling that exhausted, too. I think the heat triggered it yesterday–and more regularly lately, too; I usually am fine when I get off work but just being out and about in the heat? It’s no wonder I’m exhausted when I get home.

Of course I am concerned about all my Southern California friends, who are in the path of a massive Pacific hurricane, which is just insane. I am hoping the colder Pacific water will have a deleterious effect on the size and power of it. And even if it does come ashore as merely a tropical storm…southern California isn’t built to handle a storm like that. There’s going to be so much flooding, and mud slides, and damage to highways and roads and low-lying areas. And what happens when winds that strong come through the desert? Does it pick up sand? Yikes indeed. And instead of laughing at Californians who’ve never experienced tropical weather before and don’t know how to handle it or what to do the way the rest of the country laughs at the South when we have a blizzard, I will send them positive energy and hope everything turns out well for them and they remain safe and unharmed. At least it’s down to a category one now before it hits this afternoon. STAY SAFE CALIFORNIA FRIENDS, PLEASE.

And yes, today is my birthday. Sixty-two, to be exact, which is in and itself a kind of miracle. I slept okay for the most part, and woke up shortly after seven, as per usual. I’ll probably try to get some stuff done this morning–writing wise, writing waits for no man–but will probably take the rest of the day off to read and chill out and relax, overall. I certainly never thought I would make it this long and this far, to be honest. It isn’t bad. I don’t have the energy I once had, I tire out a lot easier than I used to, and my memory is a thing of the past, but it could easily be much worse. I get aches and sores and pains more so than I used to, but that’s part of the price you pay for living longer. We’re in another heat advisory, and I think Mercury is about to go retrograde again (yay). Paul went out with some friends last evening and wasn’t home by the time i went to bed, and I watched Youtube videos while aimlessly trying to find something to watch. I also rewatched an old black-and-white suspense movie on Youtube that I watched and enjoyed as a kid, The Spiral Staircase with Dorothy McGuire, George Brent, and Ethel Barrymore. It was based on the novel Some Must Watch by Ethel Lina White, which I’ve not read but have on my Kindle app, but it wasn’t as good as I remembered…it was actually not very good at all. (Sidebar: I am amazed at how many old movies were based on books…which often turn out to be better than the movies based on them–which is nothing new.)

I read some more stories last night as well: “By the Scruff of the Soul” by Dorothy Salisbury Davis, which was in Stories That Go Bump in the Night and “The Cocoon” by John B. L. Goodman, from Stories for Late at Night. I did enjoy both stories–the Davis in particular–and of course, reading the three stories I read yesterday gave me the answer on how to finish another story of mine that is incomplete and I didn’t know how to finish. I’m actually finding the answers to a lot of my short story problems by reading these marvelous old Alfred Hitchcock Presents anthologies. It’s never too late to learn, after all, and I am itching to get to work on these stories again. I also need to get back to work on the WIP. Sigh. Why is there always so much writing that needs doing? I need to be writing. I did finish my blog about writing Mississippi River Mischief; I do need to finish writing the blog post about the other release I have coming out this fall that I’ve not told you about yet. I also need to do some cooking this morning–I want to try to make meatballs again, so I can take them for lunch this week–and some cleaning and organizing, too. I was terribly lazy yesterday, worn down a bit, as I mentioned already–I did literally nothing for most of the day after completing my errands–but that’s fine; obviously I needed the rest. I also need to unload the dishwasher and make salad (not a euphemism). I think I may even go so far as to treat myself to a cappuccino this morning; I’ve not used those accoutremént in quite some time, and that energy boost would be rather welcomed this morning. I always worry about my sleep, though, and since tomorrow is the start of another work week…heavy heaving sigh. Maybe I can set it up tonight so I can just turn it on tomorrow?

Ah, well, and so it goes.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines for a while. Have a great Sunday, y’all, and I’ll check in with you later.

Let My Love Be Your Pillow

Saturday morning and Paul comes home today! Huzzah! Huzzah! I of course literally have no idea what time he will be arriving–he never tells me these things and I never think to ask–but it’s fine. Yesterday was a good work-at-home day. Sam the handyman came by in the morning to finish touching things up and clean everything up, which was marvelous, and now the apartment sort of looks like our apartment again. It’s great, and it makes me want to clean, which is something I’d forgotten that I enjoyed so much. I’ve really let the housework slide since the pandemic started (sure, let’s blame it on that, shall we?) but a lot of it had to do with the walls in the living room. tl;dr= we had some leaks, and water damage to the walls in the living room. The leaks were repaired, but the plaster and paint somehow never got finished and we’d been living with that for a while….and when you have places where the bare wall is showing…the apartment, even clean and sparkling from ceiling to floor, would look deranged and damaged and sloppy. I think I felt a little defeated, to be honest.

I’ve felt defeated a lot over the last few years, if I’m going to be honest. But I’ve been feeling oddly better lately about things lately, even optimistic at times. I know, right? It’s kind of scary. It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore, but I have full faith in the universe to deliver yet another blow the way it always does when I start feeling like this again–a sense of contentment and peace. I’m sleeping better, getting better rest, and I am getting things done rather than sitting in my easy chair every night scrolling through social media while Youtube videos stream endlessly on continual play. Ironically, I remember feeling this way on another hot August Friday in New Orleans, two weeks before Hurricane Katrina. I had just finished Mardi Gras Mambo at long last and turned it in, and that Friday I had met with the Admissions office at UNO to see about finishing my degree in English and pursuing a master’s, and even potentially eventually a PhD. Yes, I had ambitions. The meeting had gone incredibly well. We scheduled a meeting with the chair of the English department, and it looked fortuitous and very good; I’d have to pay for the semester required to get the English degree, but it looked like I’d get the master’s not only without having to pay, but I’d also get an on-campus part-time job. I don’t reflect back very often, but sometimes I remember that last optimistic August before Katrina and wonder how different my life would look now had Katrina never happened…or at least had the levees held. I’ve always felt the lack of educational degree and study keenly; I was far too young when I started school and majored in English to really appreciate the in-depth examination of classic literature and other forms. None of what little I learned stuck, either. I have also always been made to feel that the books I actually did read and appreciate were lowbrow; on par for someone as uneducated and unserious like me. I’ve not read much of the classic writers, for example; I’ve never read Edith Wharton or Jane Austen or much of Henry James; I may give Hemingway another try at some point but I was unimpressed with both A Farewell to Arms and The Old Man and the Sea. Fitzgerald wrote beautifully about horrible people I’m not interested in; I love Faulkner but he’s a lot of work to read (but I will go to my grave loving “A Rose for Emily” and wishing I had written one thing that perfect), so I’m not going to read Faulkner for pleasure–even though I take great pleasure in the voice and the rhythm of the words and so forth, I’m still looking for characterization and story.

Hell, there are any number of classic mystery writers I’ve never read, for that matter. I had never read Ross Macdonald until I was on a panel with Christopher Rice who sang his praises highly enough for me to get a couple of his books…and have always been delighted that I did. I think I’ve read one Rex Stout novel, but I can’t remember anything about it and I think I am thinking of a television adaptation with William Conrad and Timothy Hutton? Or did I imagine that, too? One of the things I am loving about reading the short stories in these marvelous old Alfred Hitchcock Presents anthologies is getting to read authors I’ve heard of that I’ve not read. Yesterday night I read “Curious Adventure of Mr. Bond” by Nugent Barker, from Stories That Scared Even Me; “Four O’Clock” by Rice Day, “Of Missing Persons” by Jack Finney, and Paul Eiden’s “Too Many Coincidences”, from My Favorites in Suspense. I enjoyed them all, but the Barker was my least favorite of the four. It’s written in Ye Olde Timey Style, and it goes on for far too long, and it’s big twist I saw coming. I also didn’t much care for Mr. Bond. The Day story was one of those macabre little tales of irony with the kind of ending that Daphne du Maurier mastered and I’ve always loved–and aspire to write. (The trick is the ending has to be earned.) The Finney story was also one of those, but a bit more melancholic than macabre.

I also spent some more time with Superman last night. First I watched a documentary called Look Up In The Sky! The Amazing Story of Superman, which I followed with this week’s episode of My Adventures with Superman. I was very pleased to see Jimmy Olsen talked about in the documentary, and the actor from the television series, Jack Larson, was openly gay and was in a very long term relationship that lasted until he died in 2015, as someone very kindly reminded me on Twitter the other day in response to my talking about Jimmy on here. I am really intrigued at the idea of writing a Jimmy Olsen story…although I’m not exactly sure what I would do with such a thing, and I’m equally sure publishing it would be a trademark/copyright violation of some sort. I’ll make a note and keep chewing on it, though.

I also worked on the book some last night (at last) which felt marvelous and overdue. It was so hot yesterday–even with the air conditioner on full blast and desperately trying to keep up, you could tell inside that everything outside was roasting. I am quite pleased to have gotten past the revision of Chapter Five at long last and I have to say, I am most happy with what I did. Of course, Chapter Six is from scratch, which is going to be an enormous pain in my ass, naturally; writing anything where nothing other than a thought exists at the moment is always harder than revising. Revising can be either tedious or a lot of fun; it’s when your making the book better written and deepening characters and cleaning up shit and building on the ideas you’ve already gotten down but didn’t express particularly well as you were just madly trying to get words on the page and the story advanced and all of that.

Whew. Breathe.

I also woke up to a marvelous email–I just checked–from my editor on Mississippi River Mischief letting me know when the edits would come and included…”This book is fabulous, btw.”

Whew,

And on that marvelous note, off to the spice mines with me!

My Way

Work at home Friday! Huzzah! Huzzah!

I received an invitation code the other day from a friend for Blue Sky, one of the new upstarts looking to replace the dumpster fire hellhole that is Twitter, and so yesterday I set up the account. I am also on Threads. On Blue Sky I am @scottynola, just like I am on Twitter, but on Threads I am @gregh121. I probably should have been consistent across the three platforms, but why would I start making things easier for people to find me now, twenty years into my career? But I posted on both Facebook and Twitter that I was there–and Twitter locked my account. Yes, the Muskrat is all about free speech, isn’t he?

Honestly. But Twitter becomes more and more of a shit-show with every passing day, and it’s not like it was ever a great place to be for long, anyway. I’d go on there, scroll through, have some fun and/or funny interactions with friends and acquaintances…and then inevitably it would turn horrific and I could feel the bile rising within myself as I read more and started to reply angrily…before deleting and closing the app. I wonder what future historians (if there are any future historians) will write and think about this era? What will they debate about, what will they think the truth was and how will it all wind up being reported? How harshly will we all be judged?

That’s a rather chilling thought on Morning 4, 432, 172 of an excessive heat advisory day here in New Orleans. I had thought and planned to go to the OMV today and get my real ID at long last, but I cannot find one item that I need…which Paul keeps so I won’t lose it and yet I was able to put my hands rather easily on all of the other things I need. The irony of this is not lost on me. I also am kind of glad of an excuse to not go outside today, in all honesty. It’s going to “feel like” up to 120 every day over the weekend, and I’d really rather not. It was miserable coming home from work yesterday, and I had to run a couple of errands as well. Dreadful. Just leaving my backpack in the car during those brief intervals at the stops I made was enough for my laptop to be hot to the touch when I got it inside. I think I have to make at least one grocery run this weekend, but I don’t know when I want to attempt it and go out into that. Paul’s coming home sometime on Saturday, and it would probably make the most sense to wait until he’s home, maybe? I don’t know, really. My brain is sort of on the fritz these days from the heat (yes, Greg, it’s recent and it’s the heat, whatever helps you get through it) but I had a great breakthrough last night on the WIP, and realized what absolutely is missing from the manuscript. So, hopefully after completing today’s homework duties (seriously, why haven’t I been calling it that all along instead of work-at-home? Embarrassment because it sounds like being a kid again? It’s work I do at home that’s more easily and efficiently done here than at the office, so homework), I’ll be able to dig into the book and get this important piece of the voice into the book. I also know where it’s heading in this first act, and I kind of have an idea for the middle for a change. That’s always satisfying; those a-ha moments are always so satisfying that it’s almost like having an orgasm; I want a cigarette immediately after, LOL.

But the finishing touches on the apartment are being done today, and I have to say having the walls back together on the first floor is amazing. I always forget how lovely this apartment is when, well, things are the way they are supposed to be. It’s an old house, and things go wrong and leaks occur and so on, and we generally tend to not complain about things…so they tend to not get the attention they need when we would prefer that to occur. But with the walls taken care of, with new plaster where it had damaged and then being painted over to match at last, it looks lovely in the living room and kitchen (I’d forgotten about that patch of white paint up in the corner by the ceiling; but it now matches) and now I no longer have any excuse for not cleaning and keeping the apartment up, which primarily was the defeat of “oh because of the damaged walls it will always look slovenly in here no matter what else I do” which turned into a multi-year slide. Had the walls been redone just before the shut down, I could have really used that time at home to clean the fuck out of this place. But the shutdown came with a malaise–depression, undoubtedly–and so nothing ever really got done.

I slept really well last night–woke up at five, again at six, and stayed in bed until seven–and now am enjoying my coffee and finishing this up. Sam the handyman has already come by to check in; I told him I’d be moving upstairs with my laptop and he has free rein on the downstairs. I need to start the cleaning upstairs anyway, and so if I am up there working when I take a break I can go clean something. There’s a television with Apple TV as well, so there’s literally no reason why I can’t get things done with music playing through the television. I’ve already started redoing the upstairs in bits and pieces. Tonight when I am finished with everything I think I will start watching this new reboot of The Real Housewives of New York. I’m kind of burning out on reality television, which has fascinated me for almost two solid decades now, so it would be nice to see a new, interesting take on these shows. (Hell, I even wrote a book around them.) I still have to get caught up on this season of Superman and Lois, but I am experiencing quite a bit of super-hero burnout lately, which is why I am enjoying the animated My Adventures with Superman so much–it’s optimistic and the doom and gloom and darkness so endlessly in supply for the DC Universe movies (thanks to The Dark Knight series) isn’t fun to watch.

And on that note, I am going to get a cup of coffee and head upstairs. Happy Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow. Or later–one never can be sure.

Tishbite

And suddenly it’s Sunday, and I go back to the office tomorrow. Paul leaves on Wednesday for ten days, so Wednesday night is going to feel really weird and off when I get home from work. No cat, no Paul, and that has the potential to be incredibly sad and lonely, if I allow it to go that way. I don’t think I’ll be able to manage just goofing off when I get home from work while he’s gone; not to mention the time we usually spend together every night. I will most likely finish watching My Adventures with Superman while he’s gone, and I’ll probably watch Heels on Starz, with Stephen Amell; obviously, it’s a drama series built around a local wrestling promotion–and since my current WIP does the same (it’s not about the promotion, but the promotion plays a part in the book), it couldn’t hurt to watch, right? I just have to be careful not to steal, er “borrow”, anything from the show. (I doubt I will; the promotion is really back story more than anything else.)

But yeah, next weekend is going to be weird as shit around here. I’ll have to get used to sleeping alone–always an issue for me; changes to sleeping situations never are particularly easy for me to adapt to, ever–and without Scooter to cuddle up next to me in the bed, it’ll be particularly lonely. Ah, well.

I started reading Kelly J. Ford’s The Hunt yesterday, and I have to say wow. From the very first page she pulls you into the story, and the authorial voice! Magnificent. I still haven’t read Real Bad Things, her previous novel, yet; I don’t want to not have another book by her to read (my usual author-fan neurosis kicking into gear) but I am also thinking I may read it on the plane to Bouchercon, depending on how far along I am with my TBR pile by then–I have, after all, books by Eli Cranor, S. A. Cosby, Alison Gaylin, Laura Lippman, and Michael Koryta to get through yet as well–but with Paul gone, I will either be reading or writing every night when I get home from the office, so maybe I can get a lot of this reading caught up on. I also want to read this original text version of The Mark on the Door (The Hardy Boys) so I can write about it, too. I was also thinking it might not be a bad idea to take some of these really old blog posts I never finished and copy them into Word documents…because they really are longer form personal essays that require more work than just what I think off the top of my head–I actually have to look things up and do research to be effective, and I can save them in a folder called blog essays so I know where they are when and if I decide to ever look at them or try to finish them because it bothers me that I have all these unfinished drafts saved on the blog–many of which I tend to forget about until I’m reminded when I see the draft, which isn’t exactly conducive to finishing it. There’s one particularly old one where I wanted to read and talk about Uncle Tom’s Cabin, probably one of the most famous books ever published in this country and one that actually effected societal change…but it’s undoubtedly, from the modern lens, incredibly problematic, which is why I wanted to read it. I also have an electronic copy of The Clansman, which is the book Birth of a Nation was based upon, which clearly is a problematical text; perhaps someday I can do a lengthy personal essay about both of those books, along with Gone with the Wind, in the context of the Lost Cause mythology I was raised to believe (never really did because I could never get past the evil that was chattel slavery, no matter how much any of the latter two authors tried to convince their readers that it was benevolent and better for the enslaved than freedom…even typing that, I can’t wrap my mind around the fact people believe that bullshit, or even more insanely, some still clearly do).

I also spent some time doing research into Filipino immigration to Louisiana (because I am looking into writing about them) in the eighteenth century as escapees from enslavement on Spanish galleons in the Gulf of Mexico. Louisiana truly is the melting pot I was taught growing up as a part of American exceptionalism; Louisiana had immigrants from all over the world and from every imaginable “race” (which is not biology but a social construct, and no one will ever convince me otherwise), from the Isleños from the Canary Islands to the Filipinos who settled at St. Malo just off the coast-line on the opposite shore of Lake Borgne from New Orleans–I am also interested in the idea that there was also a settlement of escaped formerly enslaved people in the East called “maroons”–not to mention the enslaved people brought here unwillingly from west Africa as well as the Caribbean islands. Europeans were well represented here by French, English, and Spanish; Jews also came over in the eighteenth century, as well as Germans (There’s a town called Des Allemandes–the Germans–on the west bank of the Mississippi, and an entire stretch of the river called the German Coast), and of course there are Cajuns, Armenians, Greeks and Americans, too. There is a quite large Vietnamese immigrant community in New Orleans East, too. I’ve always felt New Orleans had a darkness to her; the slave trade flourished here (New Orleans was what they meant by being “sold south” or “sold down the river”–and it was so bad those words and phrases were considered threats)…which also reminds me I should revisit Barbara Hambly’s Benjamin January series, which I always recommend to people interested in reading about New Orleans and its history. All of the former slave states have a darkness to them, which is what I am exploring in my Alabama and Louisiana researches on now; how to incorporate that theme, of the suffering embedded in the blood-soaked soil and how so many souls cannot possibly be at rest.

That’s kind of what my revision of this nearly forty year old short story is becoming, and that’s kind of why I am stuck in the part I am at now; when the two boys are told the Civil War legend about the ghost of the cemetery. The original story was one that has since turned out to be apocryphal, a story my grandmother told me as truth when I was a child. I have found an equally bloody and horrifying legend based in the actual grisly history of the region from whence I sprang, and I am trying to get the tone right. I think the man telling the story to the boys would not have been a Union sympathizer but a Lost Cause believer, which makes telling the story and getting the tone right much more difficult. I think I’ve figured out the way to do it right–I don’t really care if Lost Cause sympathizers are ever offended by my writings about the South, to be perfectly clear if it wasn’t already–but I am of course worried that I’ll blow it so had to rest my brain and think about it some more yesterday. I also scribbled some backstory on my main character for the book I just started writing in my journal, which was very cool. After getting the mail and the groceries yesterday I was just drained–the heat really can suck the life right out of you–and so I just sheltered in the apartment and did some cleaning and organizing and thinking, really.

We watched two movies, Renfield and They Cloned Tyrone, both of which were quite enjoyable but completely different. I wasn’t so sure about Renfield, which I assumed was simply a modern take on the Dracula story from Renfield’s point of view, which I thought was a clever idea–but I didn’t realize it was intended to be a comedy. The female lead is Awkwafina–which I did not know and didn’t see her once in any preview of the movie I ever saw, which was some peculiar marketing. I wouldn’t have even thought twice about watching the film had I known she was in it–and she was amazing, as always. I am really becoming a fan. They Cloned Tyrone was a tech horror movie, filmed like a 70’s blaxploitation film, and it was interesting and clever and really smart (although part of it reminded me very much of an Edgar award winning novel from a few years ago that I loved) and we really enjoyed it before watching some more Nora from Queens before turning it in for the evening.

Today I am going to get cleaned up a bit, get ready for the week and do some writing. I want to get this short story revision completed as well as taking another shot at revising the third chapter of the WIP. I do need to do some more straightening and organizing–as always–and there’s a load of dishes in the dishwasher that need putting away. I am feeling better rested, which is lovely, and I am hoping to carry that energy, along with some positivity, into this new week. I do have some errands that will need to be run this week, alas, but I think most nights I’m probably just going to come straight home from work and either read or write or clean and organize. There will of course be nights when I am horribly lazy and won’t do a thing, but I am getting bored with being lazy and am feeling like I need to be producing in one way or another–making myself useful in my spare time. That of course is a neurosis in and of itself; the refusal to accept and allow myself to have down time where I am not doing something or anything or even thinking; sometimes I just need to mindlessly go down Youtube wormholes for the evening, and sometimes I even learn something when I do.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday however you choose to spend it, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.

The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts

I have always loved Superman, ever since I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the comic book vending machine at the Jewel Osco on Pulaski Avenue in Chicago as a child and got Action Comics instead of the Betty and Veronica I wanted. I was disappointed, and asked my mom for some more change so I could get what I actually wanted, which was when my mom decided to teach me a valuable life lesson: if you hurry and don’t pay attention you won’t get what you want–and sometimes that’s the end of it. So always, always make sure you’re picking the right thing. (I still do, to this day, and whenever I “forget” and rush–it inevitably ends badly.)

I wasn’t happy about it, but made the best of it. I had a comic book, after all, and while I had never shown any interest in super-heroes and their comics before, I decided to read it when I got home.

Once I did, I was done with the Archie and the world of Riverdale for good. I started reading DC Comics–I already knew about Batman from the television show, which we watched every week with its epic cartoonish campiness–and all the other titles that involved Superman even if only in a peripheral way. Both Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane also had their own titles, there were at least three titles alone devoted to Superman, and of course, Justice League of America. There was a Superboy title, too, and of course we can’t forget Linda Danvers, Supergirl. I read them all, and finally stopped buying them when they reached the (to me then) insane price of a dollar per issue. But I never lost my sentimental attachment to DC Comics and their heroes. I was also terribly bummed when the peripheral titles, like Superboy, Jimmy Olson–Superman’s Pal, and Superman’s Girlfriend, Lois Lane–were cancelled. For the most part, Lois’ adventures that didn’t involve Superman–when she was actually doing her job as an investigative reporter–often involved her in mysteries she had to solve, which were a lot more interesting to me than her schemes to expose Clark as Superman, or to get Superman to marry her. The old television series, with George Reeves, was often shown in reruns on alternative non-network local channels, and while I of course watched, I was kind of disappointed with how bad and cheap the effects looked. Batman’s television show was campy, of course, and highly entertaining–but campy. Wonder Woman was also campy and cheesy, but had Lynda Carter, who personified both the super-hero and her alter-ego, Diana. (When I was watching Superpowered: The DC Story the other night Carter said something I thought was very perceptive and explained thoroughly her role on the show: “I didn’t play them as separate characters–I just played her as Diana, the Amazon Princess, with a strong belief in equality and that there’s a better way than fighting.”)

So, when they Superman movie was announced sometime in the mid-1970’s, I knew I’d go see it, but didn’t have a lot of high hopes. But the tagline was fantastic.

You’ll believe a man can fly.

I think I was at the theater, waiting to watch either The Deer Hunter or Animal House, when they played the preview for the upcoming December release Superman The Movie, starring Christopher Reeve and Margot Kidder (among many other major names in supporting roles–from Marlon Brando to Gene Hackman to Ned Beatty to Valerie Perrine). I knew they were making the movie, and I had allowed myself to get a little excited about it as a Superman fan. I’d always found previous Superman adaptations–mostly the television show–to be so inexpensively done that it was almost comical. But special effects had been changed forever by the one-two punch of 1977’s Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and I also knew they were spending a LOT of money on this adaptation, so when the screen and theater went dark, and you just heard a voice saying “You’ll believe a man can fly” and then…there he was, flying. I caught my breath because it looked so real. And when Christopher Reeve turned his face to the camera, smiled, saluted and somehow got his eyes to twinkle, I also knew the movie was perfectly cast. I couldn’t wait for the movie to finally open (I think I also saw the sequel on its opening weekend), and yes, when it finally came to the Petite Twin Theater (apparently still there? No, no movie theater on Commercial Street anymore, alas) I saw it on that first weekend.

I’ve always loved Superman, and Christopher Reeve was fantastic in the part; the bar every actor who puts on the suit has to clear.

Obviously, the recent announcement that David Corenswet has been cast to play Clark/Superman in the new reboot of the film franchise, replacing Henry Cavill, has me thinking about Superman again. I was very pleased, frankly, when Cavill was originally cast; I’d first noted him playing Charles Brandon on The Tudors and thought, “that is one fine-ass man.” I thought he was the perfect choice to play the dual roles of Clark and Superman; he is drop dead gorgeous, for one, and his eyes have the ability to twinkle when he smiles and the dimples? Just take me now, Henry.

Mr. Cavill fills out the suit rather nicely, does he not?

The Henry Cavill version of Superman, which followed on the heels of a failed reboot with Brandon Routh (who returned to the televised DC Universe–the Arrowverse–in Legends of Tomorrow. I always felt bad for Routh, who I didn’t think got a fair break, either), wasn’t the best interpretation of the character but that wasn’t Cavill’s fault; that was the vision of the director and writers and the studio; and while I think I can understand the need to update Superman, the need to darken his story a la The Dark Knight 1980’s Batman reboot was a mistake. Superman is the World’s Biggest Boy Scout; he stands for hope and truth and all those things we used to believe embodied the United States; if anything, Superman was the personification of the idea of American exceptionalism.

David Corenswet certainly has the right look for the part; he’s from the Ryan Murphy stable of dark-haired blue-eyed square jawed hunks who regularly appear on his television series. I first saw Corenswet in The Politician, and then again in Hollywood. I found the following fan art through a Google search, as there are no available official images of him as the Big Blue Boy Scout. James Gunn’s vision for the DC Universe is one I am interested in seeing; while I didn’t enjoy the second and probably won’t watch the third (I’ve come to detest everything about Chris Pratt over the last few years), I did think the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie was pitch-perfect for a popcorn super-hero type movie.

But I do hope they move away from the dark broodiness of the Cavill version. I enjoyed them (and love Henry Cavill for reasons that should be obvious; look at the posted picture above again), but they didn’t feel right for Superman movies. The underlying theme and element of all the Superman stories is his positive energy and determination to protect people from harm and most importantly, lead by example. One of the core elements of the original Superman series (before the first of many DC reboots of their universe) was that Superman’s most sacred vow was that he would never take a life, no matter who or how much they deserved death. That didn’t matter to Superman, whose pursuit of justice was limited to capturing the bad guys and turning them over to the judicial system. It wasn’t his job to determine justice and punishment.

I keep hearing good things about the animated DC movies and series, but have yet to really watch any of them. I don’t know why I have this automatic resistance to animated super-hero shows/movies; I love Disney animation, and there are literally hours of DC animated entertainment available for streaming. I’d been hearing good things about a new DC animated series on MAX called My Adventures with Superman, so while I was waiting for Paul the other night (and was tired of LSU football highlight videos) I decided to give My Adventures with Superman a chance.

Constant Reader, I am so glad I did.

The show is utterly charming. It’s very well animated, for one–Clark/Superman is handsome, which is weird to say about a cartoon–and it’s refreshingly well-written with more emphasis on the characters and who they are, as well as their relationships with each other, over the adventure aspects of it, which makes it all the more likable and enduring. The premise is that Clark, Lois, and Jimmy Olson are all interns at the Daily Planet; Clark and Jimmy are just starting, and Lois is given the job of breaking them in and showing them the ropes. Lois is ambitious and determined to become a star reporter, and her impetuosity and ambition quickly leads them all into trouble–not only with the bad guys, but with Perry White back at the paper. Fortunately, Clark is, well, Superman, so all turns out for the best and Lois gets the scoop of all time: there’s a super-man amongst us! Which gets all three of them hired on staff. Clark is exactly the way he should be: kind, thoughtful, empathetic, a little bit shy–and the cold open of episode 1, which has young Clark suddenly discovering that he can, actually, fly; and his excitement and wonder at discovering this sudden new ability slowly begins to fade–imagine learning at age ten or eleven that you have super-powers–and he begins to wonder not only who he is, but what he is….then after the opening credits it flashes forward to Metropolis and Clark and Jimmy–roommates–getting ready for their first day as interns. The chemistry between the three of them–truly the Holy Trinity of the Superman stories is Clark, Lois and Jimmy (it’s so nice to see Jimmy Olson finally getting something to do and being included as something more than just a bit part, which is a nice nod to Superman history), and I am really looking forward to watching more of it.

And the art is fantastic.

Well done, DC. I hope this series lasts and is a hit–and I hope James Gunn is watching so he can see how to do the Big Blue Boy Scout properly.